“Come quickly,” she said to him as she
went out of the study, “or else I shall read
your letters without you.”

Left alone, after putting his manuscripts together
in the new portfolio bought by her, he washed his
hands at the new washstand with the elegant fittings,
that had all made their appearance with her.
Levin smiled at his own thoughts, and shook his head
disapprovingly at those thoughts; a feeling akin to
remorse fretted him. There was something shameful,
effeminate, Capuan, as he called it to himself, in
his present mode of life. “It’s
not right to go on like this,” he thought.
“It’ll soon be three months, and I’m
doing next to nothing. Today, almost for the
first time, I set to work seriously, and what happened?
I did nothing but begin and throw it aside.
Even my ordinary pursuits I have almost given up.
On the land I scarcely walk or drive about at all
to look after things. Either I am loath to leave
her, or I see she’s dull alone. And I used
to think that, before marriage, life was nothing much,
somehow didn’t count, but that after marriage,
life began in earnest. And here almost three
months have passed, and I have spent my time so idly
and unprofitably. No, this won’t do; I
must begin. Of course, it’s not her fault.
She’s not to blame in any way. I ought
myself to be firmer, to maintain my masculine independence
of action; or else I shall get into such ways, and
she’ll get used to them too.... Of course
she’s not to blame,” he told himself.

But it is hard for anyone who is dissatisfied not
to blame someone else, and especially the person nearest
of all to him, for the ground of his dissatisfaction.
And it vaguely came into Levin’s mind that
she herself was not to blame (she could not be to
blame for anything), but what was to blame was her
education, too superficial and frivolous. ("That
fool Tcharsky: she wanted, I know, to stop him,
but didn’t know how to.”) “Yes, apart
from her interest in the house (that she has), apart
from dress and broderie anglaise, she has no
serious interests. No interest in her work,
in the estate, in the peasants, nor in music, though
she’s rather good at it, nor in reading.
She does nothing, and is perfectly satisfied.”
Levin, in his heart, censured this, and did not as
yet understand that she was preparing for that period
of activity which was to come for her when she would
at once be the wife of her husband and mistress of
the house, and would bear, and nurse, and bring up
children. He knew not that she was instinctively
aware of this, and preparing herself for this time
of terrible toil, did not reproach herself for the
moments of carelessness and happiness in her love
that she enjoyed now while gaily building her nest
for the future.